It was my senior year of high school. I was counting down the minutes until English class was over. All of the sudden an announcement came on to the loud speaker. I don’t remember what was said, I just know that it left me feeling confused. After English, I made my way to P.E. where I was instructed not to change into my usual P.E. attire, but to sit quietly at the back of the gym. A girl was crying because her mother was supposed to be on a plane flying home from New York that morning. What was I missing? Why the big fuss? I thought. I excused myself to go to the restroom, and as I was making my way down the hall I passed by the front office. I stopped suddenly as I saw the horrific scene flashing across numerous computer screens. I don’t know how long I was staring before the secretary waved me in. We stood there in silence, and I finally understood.
Did I understand how a group of people could want to create such destruction? I don’t think that is something that I will ever fully comprehend. Here I am ten years later struggling less with the question of why did this happen, but now struggling with how to teach my son about honoring his freedoms, and how to choose love over hate.
As we went to a memorial today at a stadium just north of our home, I tried to explain to my son what all of the flags meant. He just thought it was cool that they blew in the wind.
10,000 plus flags honoring those who have died in the aftermath of 9/11.
American flags inscribed with names of the innocent civilians and rescue workers that died that tragic day.
Today was just a start in teaching Ethan to remember, but it was a good one.